


Sherlock and Pocket John

by brilliantboffins



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Cute, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, Pocket John, Pocket!John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 10:05:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 16,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5703694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brilliantboffins/pseuds/brilliantboffins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock ends up adopting pocket!John from the store.  These are their adventures together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing too angsty or hardcore, just some cute fluff for pocket!John and Sherlock. Not sure how many chapters it's going to be (so far it says 1, but there'll be more), I'll update whenever I write a bit. I'll try to update semi-regularly so there's not months of waiting in between.
> 
> Inspired by [shockingblankets'](http://shockingblankets.tumblr.com/) fanart for pocket!John and [anakin-trash](http://anakin-trash.tumblr.com/) for the little short pocket!John ficlet she wrote to shockingblankets ^O^
> 
> Thank you both for letting me use the idea!!
> 
> If you'd like to see their original tumblr post which inspired this fic, please click [here](http://shockingblankets.tumblr.com/post/53259645520/its-just-the-dokta-shockingblankets-someone).

Sherlock wandered through the aisles of shelves, each one loaded with jars and bottles. None of the occupants seemed particularly interested in him, preferring to carry on with their own activities. A girl sat in the centre of her jar brushing the fur of her teddy, a little boy straightened his trousers before settling down with a book, a few glanced at Sherlock as he passed, his shadow attracting their attention as it shaded them from the lights overhead, but none caught his eye.

The detective sighed, the hopeful feeling in his chest slowly evaporating. He had really thought he would be able to find at least one pocket-companion who would be a good fit for him, but so far he was having no luck. The shop had dozens of them on the shelves, but for some reason Sherlock didn’t feel like he was drawn to any of them.

As he neared the end of the aisle, the curly haired detective’s shoulders slumped in defeat, turning to leave. Perhaps he simply wasn’t meant to have a companion. He had combed shop after shop looking for a pocket companion with no luck, and given his tendency to be brusque, rude, and snippy he was never going to meet a human who would be willing to accept him as a friend. He tried hard not to let it bother him, for almost 40 years he has managed by himself, but lately his little flat on Baker Street seemed more silent than usual. Coming home after whirl winding around a crime scene, the silence almost felt deafening, and if it weren’t for Mrs. Hudson’s constant interruptions he might go mad soon.

_…tap, tap, tap…_

The little clinks against glass made Sherlock pause and look around. Had he imagined it? There wasn’t anyone else in the shop as far as he knew, so surely…

_…tap, tap, tap…_

There it was again!

Sherlock straightened and looked around. None of the little companions in the jars were looking at him, so who had…

_…tap, tap, tap…_

It was so soft…slightly muffled, like the sound had to travel through several barriers before reaching Sherlock’s ears.

Carefully, the detective parted two of the little jars, jostling their occupants and causing them to looking at him with slight irritation. He whispered a soft apology before reaching behind them to a third jar that was almost hidden.

_…TAP, TAP, TAP…_

The sound came sharper and clearer this time, and Sherlock could feel the slight vibrations against the jar as he gently coaxed it out from its hiding place.

The little companion inside stared up at him, smiling hopefully. His short, blond hair was swept neatly to the side, small body wrapped in a warm, fluffy jumper and dark trousers. He was kneeling against the edge, hands pressed against the smooth surface of the cool glass and as Sherlock watched he raised his little fist and tapped it against the jar once more with a little giggle of delight.

_…TAP, TAP, TAP…_

For some reason the display made the usually aloof detective smile, and before he knew it, he was chuckling while watching the little companion inside. Looking up on the lid, he noted the name scrawled hastily on a piece of tape: ‘John Watson’. The little guy looked a bit older than the others, perhaps explaining why he had been pushed towards the back of the shelf, but he certainly appeared interested in Sherlock. He stood up from his kneeling position, stretching to his full 15 cm height and waved at the human who was currently holding his jar.

Hesitantly, Sherlock gave a little wave back, feeling silly but not wanting to be rude. He looked around to see if anyone was watching, glancing along the other jars for one final sweep of the display. When he turned his gaze back to John’s jar, he noticed the little companion staring up at him with despair, but the expression was quickly wiped away as soon as John saw him looking back. Blue eyes gazed up at Sherlock with such hope that it was almost heartbreaking, yet there was also a hint of caution. The detective wondered how long John had been here, sitting in the shop, waiting for a family to adopt him, only to be disappointed time after time. Rejected and unwanted, with nowhere to call home, he must have felt so lonely.

A wave of protectiveness washed over Sherlock and he decided right then and there that John would come home with him to Baker Street. They’ll find companionship in each other, and together they’ll face the world.

With full confidence, Sherlock smiled at John and headed for the cash register. The expression on the little companion’s face was most incredulous, like he couldn’t believe he was finally being adopted by someone. He pressed his face to the glass eagerly, looking this way and that, ready to say goodbye to this shop for good and start his new life with this mysterious human who had chosen him.

 

* * *

 

**_CHAPTER 1 END_ **

**_Thank you for reading!! Kudos, comments, all appreciated :D_ **


	2. Scones and Jam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, pocket!John likes scones and jam, and even our magnificent detective can't keep him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Please see chapter 1 for full notes and credits.)
> 
> Thank you to everyone who took the time to read, leave kudos, and/or comment so far!!

John hung on tightly to the collar of his human’s coat, looking this way and that with excitement. He had been inside the shop for so long and the outside world was an utterly new experience. The air was fresh, the sun was bright, there were people coming and going, cars whizzed past, everything was a marvel and John wished he could go and explore every corner they passed.

Sherlock strode through the streets with confidence, his tall figure cutting an impressive path through the crowd. He felt a new sense of pride with his new little friend riding upon his shoulder. The detective couldn’t help but glance at the little man often, watching the blue eyes gleam with curiosity. Sometimes, John would lean in against his neck if he was jostled, other times he stretched as far out as he dared to see into the distance, but the smile of pure joy never left his face.

At one point, John leaned so far he almost fell off, but Sherlock quickly caught him before he hit the ground, cradling him gently in his large palm. By instinct, John had grabbed onto the first thing he could to avoid falling, which happened to be Sherlock’s finger, wrapping his little body up tightly until he realized he was no longer in free-fall. His face flushed in embarrassment at his clumsiness but Sherlock only chuckled and gently settled the little companion upon his previous perch once more.

He looked around, dark curls bouncing, reflecting the sunlight brilliantly which made the usual inky locks look brunet.

“Hungry?”

The deep voice rumbled pleasantly, and John immediately perked up with interest. FOOD! The food in the shop was bland, often the same day after day, and John was more than ready to try something new. He rubbed at his belly and looked at Sherlock with wide, eager eyes.  
“FOOD!” He squeaked with joy, he didn’t know many human words, but he certainly knew that one.

Sherlock blinked in surprise before he burst out laughing, startling a few people walking by.

“Yes, yes, John, food. We’ll get food. What kind of food do you want?” The detective asked, looking around to see if he could spot any restaurants or cafes nearby.

“FOOD!!” John repeated enthusiastically, tugging at Sherlock’s collar with urgency.

With an amused huff, Sherlock turned and started heading for a small café that caught his eye. From the window it didn’t look very full but appeared cozy enough to not feel too empty. A small bell over the door rang cheerily to welcome them inside as the scent of fresh brewed coffee and delicious sweets wafted over them. John sniffed the air, feeling his mouth water from the aroma alone, and he pointed happily at the counter where piles of baked goods were displayed.

“Scones! Scones!”

“Yes, John, those are scones. Hold on, let me at least take a look at their menu.”

But John was in no mood to wait. He stood up on Sherlock’s shoulder, his grip on the jacket collar loosening as he tried to get a better view. Unfortunately, right at that moment, a fellow customer bumped into Sherlock causing him to stumble a few steps. The jolt felt like an earthquake to John who found himself tumbling down a coat sleeve, flying through the air, and landing with a hard “OOMF” against the shiny floor.

“John!!” Sherlock’s panicked voice was accompanied by a blur of black as he crouched down to try and rescue his newly acquired friend. He found the miniature man sitting under one of the tables where he had rolled to a stop, legs splayed out in front, rubbing at his head with a scowl.

“Are you all right? Break anything?”

John glared up at Sherlock and defiantly stood up, tossing his head back with flair. He may be small, but he wasn’t fragile. Instead, he pointed stubbornly over towards the counter and stomped his feet.

“SCONES!”

The tiny voice had surprising volume behind it and for a moment Sherlock just stared. He had never heard of a pocket-companion being so demanding before. With a roll of his eyes, the detective reached over and picked John by the back of his jumper, ignoring the kicking, flailing limbs accompanied by little grunts of displeasure. This time he placed the little man in his pocket instead of on his shoulder.

“Behave, John, otherwise you won’t get any scones.”

Before he could pull his hand out from the pocket he felt sharp little teeth pinching the flesh of a finger between them and quickly withdrew it with a yelp.

“OUCH!! JOHN!”

The blond haired companion peeked out over the top of the pocket and gave him a smug smirk.

“John gets scones. And jam,” he claimed proudly with confidence.

Sherlock suppressed another eye roll as he walked up to the cashier. Scones and jam it would be then.

 

* * *

 

_**CHAPTER 2 END** _

_**Kudos and comments always appreciated!!** _


	3. Bath time.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After and unexpected tumble into a jam jar, John is in dire need of a bath, so back to Baker Street they go!

Sherlock grimaced as he felt John snuggle closer to his neck, the sticky feeling of jam spreading over his skin. During their little excursion to the café, John had taken an unexpected nosedive into a pot of jam, coating him from head to toe in the sweet, sticky substance. Sherlock tried to clean him up as best as he could with some tissues and water, but it still left the blond hair spiked with pink jam, and the jumper and trousers doomed for a wash.

In any case, John was quite happy. Aside from being sticky, he now had a tummy full of scones and jam, and was now cuddled between Sherlock’s warm neck and fluffy scarf. He breathed in deeply, enjoying the hint of cologne along with some earthy spices that likely came from the products Sherlock used.

“SHER-lock, sher-LOCK, sh-ER-lock, SHERRY LOCK!” John burst into giggles as he amused himself with his human’s name, which he had learned during their little meal together. It was an odd sounding word, he had never heard anyone else with that name, but at least it made the name easy to remember.

Sherlock tried to fight down the twitch of his lips, attempting a disproving look.

“Say my name correctly, John, it’s Sherlock. Sher-lock.”

“Sheryl-lock!”

“Sherlock.”

“Cher-lock?”

“SHERlock,”

“Sher-ROCK!”

“Sher-L-ock.”

“Sher-cock.”

“Sher…wait, what?” The stunned detective physically stopped walking as he turned his head awkwardly to try and see John, even though he couldn’t quite get his neck to bend that way.

The miniature man looked incredibly smug, smirking back with one eyebrow raised showing he knew exactly what he said.

Sherlock took a deep breath, pulled himself up to his full height, and with as much haughtiness as he could, he breathed out just two words.

“Jumpers John.”

For the rest of the trip the two hurled variations of each other’s name at one another, sometimes dissolving into giggles and laughter, other times ending with huffs of indignation.

****

Sherlock was never one to care much about the state of his flat. So long as he could find what he needed he didn’t bother with cleaning or organizing. Usually Mrs. Hudson came by often enough to make sure there was at least enough space to walk through, but every flat surfaced held something, and everything had meaning.

John was delighted with the flat. It looked warm, welcoming, nothing like the sterile shelves of the shop where he had lived before. He tried hopping down as soon as they were in the door but Sherlock grabbed him by the jumper and hauled him into the bathroom.

“No, bath first.”

Unfortunately, Sherlock’s flat wasn’t really equipped for a pocket-companion. Everything he owned was human sized, so the detective ended up getting a big bowl from the kitchen for John to wash up in. A drop of shampoo and a drop of conditioner were plopped down onto a small plate and placed next to the bowl for John to wash his hair with. As the blond haired man stripped down to his boxers Sherlock filled the bowl with warm water and left his new friend to get himself cleaned up.

Dipping his toe in cautiously, John was delighted to find that the water leaned on the hot side. Their cleaning time at the shop were always rushed with each little pocket-companion getting an efficient scrub before being dried off in a hurry. He never had time to just enjoy a nice soak. As he sank down into the water, he huffed out a sigh of pure joy. Ah, bliss.

In the living room, Sherlock whirled around, trying to think. Everything in the flat was too big for John. The utensils too heavy, the furniture too large, if John wanted to even get on the sofa it would be like mountain climbing. But first…

Sherlock ran to his bedroom and dove into his closet. He knew he had it somewhere, and after throwing out several articles of clothing he held up his prize with triumph. A paper bag that Mrs. Hudson had given him when she found out he was looking for a pocket-companion. Inside were little outfits she had made, trousers, jumpers, socks, skirts and dresses too even though Sherlock had been adamant that a companion from the fairer sex was not what he was looking for. He dumped the contents on the bed and organized them by category before shuffling them away into some small boxes he had. He’ll give them to John after his bath, John will be so happy for sure!

Smiling to himself at finally finding a friend, Sherlock grabbed the boxes and sat down outside the bathroom to wait, his mind palace already hard at work renovating to build a new room for his new friend.

 

* * *

 

_**CHAPTER 3 END** _

I know Sherlock probably seems quite OOC, but I think Sherlock bonded himself to John right from episode one of the series. He winked at John knowing that people like it when he does it, he showed up marvelously to try and impress John, he mirrored his MP to the first crime scene he and John went to together, so I think, even though we don't see it onscreen, Sherlock was likely quite gleeful after meeting John and particularly after John agreed to be his flatmate.

Anyway, this is just cute fluff, so, meh. Anything to make our boys cuter, haha.

Thanks for reading!! :D


	4. Crime Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and pocket!John adjust to life together.

John slotted into Sherlock’s life far more easily than the detective had anticipated. For such a mini-person, the companion was quite self-sufficient. After Sherlock made some purchases for miniature furniture designed to suit pocket-companions the flat became fairly accessible for John.

Some little boxes were glued together to make steps, allowing John to get up onto chairs, tables, and the sofa. Several toothpicks were used to make a railing and then installed in a corner of the bedroom where the little companion could hang his clothes. Sherlock found himself wandering through toy aisles to look for things that would be useful for John, often picking up odds and ends that he thought his friend would like.

From the internet, a pet bed was ordered which was surprisingly expensive for such a small bed. John commandeered an entire corner of Sherlock’s bedroom for himself, decorating it as he liked, even using one of the bigger boxes as a makeshift “room” for privacy. The one time Sherlock attempted to peek inside he was met with lots of foot stomping and angry huffs, then ignored for an entire day.

John quickly revealed himself as someone not to be messed with, willing to use his teeth and little fists if Sherlock ever tried poking and prodding at him. Unfortunately, being curious by nature, the young detective couldn’t help wanting to examine a miniature version of a human. Of course, biologically, he know their bodies operated the same, but he still wanted to touch and feel, check for himself. This most certainly did not sit well with John. Sometimes, Sherlock would wait until John was sleeping or occupied before attempting a quick examination, but always he was caught and resulted in him being chased from the room by an angry little ball of fury.

Still, most days, the two enjoyed each other’s company. Sherlock often talked and talked, digging through papers and books, fingers flying over keyboards as he searched and remembered information. John would watch with fascination, often unable to understand most of what was being said but mesmerized all the same. His human was like a one-man tornado tearing through the flat, except those times when he seemed to hit a brick wall and screech to a halt. And then, for days the tall, lanky brunet would wallow on the sofa, bemoaning to John the miseries of boredom while his companion just rolled his eyes.

With a sigh, John would slide down from his perch on his comfortable armchair and search around for Sherlock’s phone. He would do a quick tap dance routine on the screen to unlock it before finding Detective Inspector Lestrade in the contacts. Sherlock had introduced them the first time he brought John to a crime scene, ignoring the look of disbelieve on the DI’s face and the snickers from other coppers on the MET.

Carefully stepping over the letters on the pop-up keyboard, John would tap out a short message:  
‘ _case now sherlock bored_ ’ and send it off, along with a prayer that the DI will show up on their doorstep soon with something to distract his lunatic of a human.

Certainly life with Sherlock was more thrilling than sitting in a jaw. John not only saw much of London from their running around, he was also taken along to crime scene after crime scene as his human seemed to have a love/hate relationship with Scotland Yard (OK, it was more like a hate/deride/tolerate/just-give-me-what-you’ve-got-Sherlock-and-stop-showing-off relationship). Some of the other officers were quite mean to Sherlock and John always made sure he glared extra hard whenever he saw them.

One time, a lady even had the nerve to call his Sherlock a “freak” and John lunged without thinking, grabbing onto her curly hair with a vengeance and pulling until she was shaking her head while screaming, trying to get him off. It took Lestrade and Sherlock to coax John into letting go, although by then he had already pulled out a handful of the dark strands. Ever since then that mean lady (whom Sherlock later told him was called Sally Donovan) made sure to give John a wide berth whenever he showed up.

“Psychopath over there can’t make friends, so he has to buy them,” John overheard a pointy-nosed man named Anderson snicker to Donovan one time.

The little companion who had been waiting for Sherlock to finish examining the crime scene had whipped his head around and began stalking towards the two. Uncertainty passed over their expressions as they hurriedly took a step back, and then another, then another, trying to back without being obvious as a jumpered thunderstorm headed their way. But before John could reach them (they did have the advantage of longer legs than him, so he had to take five steps for every one they took), Sherlock had scooped him up and sat him in his usual seat atop the detective’s shoulder.

It was obvious to Sherlock what was happening and he couldn’t deny feeling somehow touched that John would stand up for him against two, full-sized humans. Still, a brawl would be best avoided. But John wasn’t done. Instead of sitting quietly he stood up tall and shook a fist towards Donovan and Anderson.

“Sherlock friend! Sherlock good friend! Sherlock smart, funny, not psy-psy-psypath!”

“Psy-CHO-path,” Sherlock corrected him quietly.

“Not psyCHOpath!” John repeated with determination, “You IDIOT!” The last word was yelled with full conviction, in much the same intonation that Sherlock tended to use.

For a few seconds everyone within earshot was silent as all eyes were trained on the fuming bundle. Then, from a corner, there came a muffled snicker as Lestrade hurriedly clapped a hand over his own mouth so as not to laugh out loud and worsen the situation.

Biting his own lip to keep from grinning, Sherlock hurriedly retreated from the scene with John riding on his shoulder and still breathing heavy from his outburst. Yep, life was infinitely better now that he had a friend.

 

* * *

 

_**CHAPTER 4 END** _

_Thank you all for the lovely kudos and comments!! I didn't expect to get so many :D  As a side note..._

**_...can.._ **

**_ _ **

****

**_...you..._ **

**_ _ **

****

**_...believe..._ **

**_ _ **

**_...the..._ **

**_ _ **

****

**_...things..._ **

**_ _ **

**_...we..._ **

**_ _ **

**_...can..._ **

****

**_ _ **

****

**_...buy..._ **

**_ _ **

****

**_...for..._ **

**_ _ **

****

**_...pets???!!_ **

**_ _ **


	5. Thunderstorm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A thunderstorm has our pocket!John shaking, will Sherlock come to the rescue?

The room was quiet and dim, only one lamp was turned on making the shadows seem eerie. The pitter-patter of rain drops hitting the window was loud and the booming thunder even more so when the Gods outside battled in the sky. A cursory glance would show no occupant in the empty room, but if you were to look closer you would notice a small, trembling little ball in the corner of the sofa. His already tiny frame was dwarfed even more by the massive expanse of the furniture, but he paid no mind with his face jammed into the fabric, clinging to it with tiny fists. The rumbling outside shook the walls and to him it felt like the entire Earth was shaking. He yelped and dug even deeper, almost crawling into the space between the back of the sofa and the cushion.

A loud “BANG” from below made him jump as he whipped his head around towards the noise. He heard the “STOMP, STOMP, STOMP” of footsteps as someone ran up the stairs. The door to the flat flew open with flair as a gust of wind accompanied the man who had just entered. His tall frame filled the doorway as his eyes gleamed with triumph.

“JOHN! IT WAS BRILLIANT!!”

John was in no mood for his mad human’s antics as he grabbed one of his socks off his feet and threw it towards the maniac detective. Unfortunately, the little sock didn’t quite manage to sail far enough, plopping down sadly on the floor.

“SHERLOCK IDIOT!” John hollered as he pressed his face back against the cushion.

The detective blinked, stared down at the sock, then back to John, his mind trying to halt its previous thoughts to process new ones. When another roar of thunder caused his friend to whimper, Sherlock finally understood. He hurriedly strode to the window and closed the curtains which had been much too heavy for John to do, and he set about starting a fire in the fireplace to warm the room up. He unwrapped his scarf and gently folded it around the little companion’s shaking body, hiding him in a makeshift scarf-cave.

“John? John, are you all right?”

The stubborn miniature man sniffed loudly, then gave Sherlock a good glare.

“Sherlock LEFT! Without John!” He accused with gusto, pointing an accusing finger at the accused.

Poor John had woken up alone in the flat with Sherlock nowhere to be seen, and although it hadn’t initially bothered him it certainly did once the thunderstorm started.

“You were sleeping, John, I didn’t want to wake you,” Sherlock defended, leaving out the fact that John was often cranky if woken before he was ready. Besides, the case was an easy solve, didn’t even take him a full day and here he was, ready to regale his friend with his victory.

John, however, didn’t seem to care as he pulled off his second sock and hurled it towards the detective, this time hitting the man squarely in the face.

“Liar! Sherlock liar! Sherlock no want John, John not helpful.”

Well that was simply not true! John was always helpful, if only just to keep Donovan and Anderson away. Not to mention he gave Sherlock lots of ideas, sometimes making remarks that open up new paths for Sherlock’s mind to explore when he’s stuck. No, the young detective was not about to let his friend think so little of himself. He reached down and scooped his flatmate up, along with the scarf. Heading into the kitchen, he turned on the lights and set his friend down on the table (after clearing away his current experiment). John peeked out from the folds of the scarf, still trying to be huffy but curious at the same time. He watched as Sherlock pulled out his phone then bend down, bringing his big head closer to John.

Quickly, the small man backed away a bit, looking puzzled.

“What Sherlock doing?”

“Taking a photo, John. We’re going to take a photo, and I’m going to put it in my wallet so that wherever I go, you’re with me. Now stand over here, face the light.”

John blinked, then blinked again, and then once more for good measure. Sherlock had to go down on his knees in order to bring his head to table level, and the man made a ridiculous image hunched down, trying to hold up his phone and get a good angle.

A photo? Sherlock wanted a photo with him? He wanted to keep the photo with him all the time? For some reason the thought made John a bit giddy. It sounded like something couples would do, keeping their most important person with them all the time. For a few seconds he thought about that.

“John…John important? John important to Sherlock?” He asked hesitantly, looking up through his lashes, feeling shy all of a sudden. His face felt slightly warm although that could just be the scarf.

“Of course you’re important, John, don’t be an idiot.”

The reply made John burst out in giggles as he pushed himself out of his scarf-cave and grab onto Sherlock’s head in a hug.

“Ow, wha-, John, my hair!”

Refusing to let go, John hugged tighter, laughingly landing a loud kiss to the silky curls Sherlock always took pride in.

“Sherlock important too! Sherlock idiot, but important!”

The detective rolled his eyes, but grinned all the same as he snapped a photo of them, with John half hidden in his curls.

 

* * *

 

CHAPTER 5 END

Thanks for reading!!!!  Love you all!! :D

I'm going to try and work on some pocket!John fanart and I'll post them up along with future chapters.


	6. Box of Chocolates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets a box of chocolates but someone else got to it before him!

Sherlock stared at the box. He squinted and leaned closer. For a second he almost went cross-eyed before pulling back so his vision could focus again. He lifted the box up and stared at eye-level. He put it down on the table and scanned over the surface. Nope. He wasn’t imagining it. Every, single piece of the delicious, sweet, mouth-watering chocolates had a tiny bite mark. The entire box, shaped nauseatingly like a heart, held almost two dozen chocolates of varying flavours yet on the edge of each one a tiny, almost unnoticeable nibble was gone.

“JOHN!!” The detective bellowed, his dressing gown fluttering behind him.

He looked around, trying to find the little thief, but of course the culprit had hidden himself away.

“John you come here!”

A moment of silence, but no John.

“Come at once or you won’t get jam for a month!”

Immediately there came a loud squawk of protest from behind the door of one of the cupboards. Sherlock smirked as he leaped over and yanked it open, revealing a startled pocket-companion who tried to duck behind the tea bags.

“Oh no you don’t, you come out here!” Sherlock reached in and pulled his friend out by the collar of his shirt, unminding of the flailing limbs.

He set the little person down next to the chocolate box and folded his arms, looking quite cross as he forced his mouth into a deep, scolding frown.

“Explain yourself.”

John simply shrugged and looked back with wide eyes, as if he had no idea what Sherlock was going on about.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know, John. Those chocolates have clearly been bitten.”

John seemed to think for a bit before he looked up and smiled wide.

“Taste test! Experiment! John experiment!” He pointed to a piece of white chocolate with squiggly lines drawn over top, “This one good, Sherlock eat this one!”

Sherlock had to bite his lip hard to stop from laughing, it was simply too difficult to try and be angry with his friend. Still, the detective put up a valiant fight as he schooled his features into one of disbelief.

“I can’t eat that now, you’ve bitten it.”

The little blond man looked confused as he tilted his head to the side.

“Sherlock can’t eat? Why? Sherlock tummy hurt?”

With a roll of his eyes, the detective pulled the kitchen chair out from under the table and sat down.

“No, my ‘tummy’ doesn’t hurt. If you bite something it belongs to you, other people can’t eat it anymore, John.”

The confusion only intensified, “No? Only John eat?”

“Yes, only you can eat it now.”

John looked at the chocolates, then back to Sherlock. He straightened himself and marched to where Sherlock was sitting with one arm resting on the table. Staring the big human in the eyes, John leaned down, opened his mouth, and bit down hard on Sherlock’s arm where the sleeve of his dressing gown had ridden up a bit.

“OW!! JOHN!!”

The small companion jumped back as Sherlock’s arm jerked. When the brunet went to look the brunet found he had a nice set of tiny teeth marks decorating his pale skin.

“John, what in the world?? You can’t eat me!”

John rolled his eyes and sat down, crossing his legs and seeming pleased with himself.

“John no eat Sherlock. John bites Sherlock, Sherlock belongs to John.”

That earned him a bout of sputtering and coughing as pale skin flushed pink and the young sleuth suddenly felt the room get warm. He quickly looked away, one large hand covering the precious bite mark. It was silly, a simple misunderstanding of human etiquette by John, but the fact that the tiny companion wanted Sherlock as his own made the detective feel like he was nesting a ball of warmth deep in his chest. Certainly he had never been wanted by anyone else, usually other humans tried to get him to leave as quickly as possible using words and sometimes fists to drive him away.

John reached over to the box, unheeding of the storm he had stirred up. He tried to tug the white chocolate piece from the box but it was just a bit too heavy so he ended up having to roll it over next to Sherlock.

“John share chocolate with Sherlock.”

For a moment, the tall detective hesitated, his hands fidgeting in his lap. After John huffed impatiently and nudged the chocolate even closer, Sherlock finally took it and carefully put it into his mouth, letting the sweet taste fill his mouth. He reached out and gently ruffled John’s short, blond hair, tickling him a bit under the chin. The soft giggles made Sherlock smile.

For the rest of morning the two companions sat in the kitchen indulging in their box of chocolates.

 

* * *

 

_**CHAPTER 6 END** _

Just under a month under Valentines and the shops here are starting to fill up with chocolates already. I swear it's a conspiracy against those of us having made the age-old resolution to lose weight for the new year.  Wish I had a mini-companion to share my chocos with though T_T 


	7. Kidnapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who's taken John? What does he want??

John was furious. More than when Sherlock barges in on him in the bath. More than when Sherlock tortures his violin at wee hours of the morning. Even more than when Sherlock forgets his jam. He was so furious he might combust from all the fury inside his furious little heart.

The man sitting opposite him, however, looked cool and somewhat bored. His eyes flicked over John and the little pocket-companion could almost hear his sneer of dismissal. Like a cat being cornered John bristled. He crossed his arms, leaned back on the leather seat, and glared for all he was worth.

“So…You’re John Watson,” the man’s smooth voice was as disdainful as his expression.

John decided to stay quiet. No need to give more information without being forced.

“I believe you are the pocket-companion to a Sherlock Holmes. Currently residing at 221B Baker Street. You were a discount companion due to your age and length of time at the shop,” as the man talked he pulled out a little notebook and began flipping through the pages, once in a while looking over the top at John. Against his best efforts the blond companion felt himself tense up, how did this man know so much about him and Sherlock? Who was he?

“Oh, how interesting…”

That made John even more nervous as the man smiled just a bit, like a shark about to consume its prey.

“Sherlock isn’t your first owner…you were…”

“Shut up!” John yelled, wanting to charge across the space that separated them and rip that notebook away from the man, “Sherlock John’s friend! Sherlock don’t care John’s past!”

The man almost looked amused as he snapped his notebook shut.

“Is that so? Then why haven’t you revealed your past to him?” The man leaned down close, his face coming looming as he examined the small blond carefully, “What are you afraid of?”

John didn’t hesitate. He raced forward and kicked out a leg, landing a solid foot right to the man’s big nose.

“You STALKER!!”

With a yelp the man yanked himself back, rubbing at his nose where a nice red bruise was forming. John looked smug as he smirked a dare for the man to get close again.

“Stalker, Sherlock stalker! John tell Sherlock, Sherlock will find you!”

The man composed himself once more, clearing his throat as he straightened his suit.

“Oh, he knows exactly where I am, I have no doubt about that. I suppose I ought to congratulate you on finally getting out of that shop, John. Who knows what would have happened if you had to stay there longer,” this time the man’s smile was full of teeth, the words sounding more like a threat than a congratulation.

John suppressed his urge to shudder as he banged a fist on the door that prevented him from leaving the car which they were sitting in.

“Shut up. You let John go. Sherlock angry if John not go home.”

As the words left his mouth the car slowed to a stop and the door swung open. The sound from outside on the streets filled the once-quiet space as time seemed to restart once more. The man didn’t budge, although he raised an eyebrow at John who scampered off the seat and leaped from the car onto the sidewalk. To his relief, he was already in front of the flat.

“John Watson,” the stalker-y man called out, “Give Sherlock my greetings.”

John was just about to turn and tell the creepy man what he can do with his ‘greetings’ but the car door slammed shut and the car pulled away from the curb. For a moment all John could do was stare with his mouth agape, the insult stuck in his throat. That had been slightly terrifying, and if he wasn’t riding high on adrenaline now he was sure he’d be shaking. But a tiny companion can’t be on a sidewalk for long if he doesn’t want to get trampled, and after almost getting kicked, John hurriedly sprinted across the sidewalk towards the front door of their flat. Of course he couldn’t reach the knob or the bell but luckily Sherlock had installed a mini-door at the bottom just for him (OK, he sawed out a hole in the door which Mrs. Hudson had berated him for, so they later added a small panel of wood to the hole to act as a mini-door).

Inside was much warmer and John allowed himself a soft sigh of relief. Getting kidnapped by a creepy stalker and forced to sit in some stuffy car wasn’t fun at all. Absently, he tugged on a length of rope behind the door which was connected to a bell in his and Sherlock’s flat. He could hear the muffled tinkling as the bell rang, signaling to Sherlock that his companion had come home. Immediately footsteps stormed overhead before hurrying down the stairs as his human-sized companion flew towards him.

“John! Where have you been? You said you would only go out for a short walk!”

Sherlock scooped up his companion, eyes wide and almost frantic.

“Wait…that smell…you look tired, more than necessary for just a walk, you’re warm when you should be cold from the outside, you’re shaking and not from being cold…,” Sherlock’s mind raced with deductions before John could even get a word out, “Oh for god’s sake! That…that pompous arsehole, I can’t BELIEVE he would do this to me!”

John felt like he was stuck in a tornado where Sherlock wasn’t making sense, added to his weird experience just moments ago and the pocket-companion almost wondered if he hadn’t fallen into another dimension.

Sherlock fumed as he stomped back up the stairs with John on his shoulder. The blond haired companion allowed his friend a few minutes to pace, rant, and scream but finally had enough of being ignored. He reached into the forest of wild curls, grabbed one, and tugged hard.

“OUCH!!!”

That brought everything to a screeching halt. Sherlock looked to John with clear confusion at having had his hair pulled, mouth forming into a pout.

“Sherlock, explain. Who ‘pompous arsehole’? Dangerous?”

The brunet thought for a second then gave John the most serious look he’d ever seen.

“He’s my arch enemy, John. The most dangerous man you’ll ever meet.”

 

* * *

_**CHAPTER 7 END** _

Lol, poor John, he's got his hands full.  Also some foreshadowing about the little guy's past. I'm trying to work out how to get the "doctor" part into his story...

 

Oh, and I started my sketch for pocket!John :D Not really to scale or anything, but you get the idea.

 

 


	8. Stuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's a pocket-companion to do when you're stuck and your human's not around?

John was stuck.

Well and truly stuck.

Sometimes being tiny sucked.

Sucked balls.

Especially when you lived with an arsehole of a detective who couldn’t be bothered to put things where they belonged.

And then said detective just leaves without warning, no mention of when he’ll be back.

John cursed under his breath as he banged his fist against the glass that now entrapped him.

Stupid Sherlock.

Stupid graduated cylinders.

Stupid Sherlock putting his stupid graduated cylinders right under the cupboard that held the tea bags.

John shuddered as he recalled the moment of horror as his grip on the cupboard had slipped and he tumbled down, straight into the mouth of one of the stupid graduated cylinders. He huffed in annoyance as he tried to bang against the glass once more, hoping maybe Mrs. Hudson will hear.

Unfortunately only silence rewarded his efforts. So now here he was, stuck, without his tea, without his slippers which had fallen off during his tumble, and not even a place to sit since the cylinder wasn’t exactly roomy.

John looked around. He could shake the cylinder until it wobbled onto its side, but there was a chance the glass would shatter, or it would fall from the counter and crash to the floor below. Still, that option was looking more and more tempting as the minutes ticked by. Sherlock is going to get an earful when he gets back, from now on anything that John might get stuck in had better have a lid on it or else the little companion vowed he would unthread the buttons of every, single one of the pompous arsehole’s shirts.

Suddenly, a large growl interrupted his plans for revenge and John realized he was starving. He hadn’t even had breakfast yet, preparing to get tea before he got stuck here, and it was already almost noon. He could even SEE the jam jar over on the kitchen table, but he just couldn’t reach it. This was clearly torture and he won’t stand for it any longer. Gathering his course, the little man threw his weight to one side of the cylinder causing it to wobble. He tried again and this time the cylinder started circling on the bottom rim. John felt like he was on a roller coaster ride as he was tossed around and then, with an almighty “CRASH” the cylinder fell like a mighty tower.

…And fell…

…And fell…

…Right into the sink…

Dammit. Well, at least nothing broke, and the beaker was now on its side allowing John to simply walk out of his glass cage. But the slippery slopes of the sink proved to be an even mightier foe to conquer as the blond man surveyed his surroundings. Luckily for him Sherlock had left some dishes in there and quickly John began building himself a ladder of sorts using the dishes to get out. Unluckily, dishes are heavy, and John was small, which meant lots of pulling, pushing, huffing, cursing, more cursing, sweating, more cursing, and a few good kicks before he finally managed something that might work.

Hop onto the plate, clamber onto tea cup, spiderman his way up the mug, leap onto the bowl, almost…almost…the edge is within sight…just one more jump and he’s free…

**_BANG_ **

“JOHN!! GREAT NEWS!!”

_**CRASH** _

John suddenly found himself at the bottom of the sink again as his jump was miscalculated due to the sudden disturbance and he didn’t quite make it to the edge.  His flailing legs and arms knocked into the dishes pile he had made sending it all over the sink.

For a few seconds the flat was deadly silent before a flurry of activities all happened at once.

“John?”

“SHERLOCK IDIOT!! JOHN HUNGRY!!! TEA, NOW!! JAM!!!!”

The detective cautiously peered into the kitchen, his own cheeks still pink and chilled from being outside. If they were in an animation he was sure he would be able to see steam coming out of the sink where John’s furious voice floated from. He tried to keep himself hidden, knowing that an angry John was a force to be reckoned with, but as soon as his brunet curls appeared in the little companion’s vision John stamped his feet hard, scowling with fury.

“SHER.LOCK.HOLMES!” With each syllable John stamped his feet once, ending with a chorus of stomps.

Sherlock eyed the scattered dishes and realized what John had been trying to do.

“Bit of a situation, John?” Sherlock asked, trying for nonchalance except it was ruined by a choked off snicker.

The glare from the blond man continued for a few more seconds before it melted into a sickeningly sweet smile full of teeth.

“Sherlock free John, yes? Sherlock get John out.”

There was no way the detective was falling for that act as he leaned against the counter, looking at the little man.

“Hm, I could, yes. But for a price.”

Twitch. John’s eyebrow suddenly started twitching.

“Price? John pay price?”

“Yes. Mrs. Hudson’s been complaining that there are mice in the walls, I think you’d be just the right size to go in and take a look.”

Twitch, twitch.

“M-mice? John…look for mice?”

“Oh, don’t worry, we’ll arm you of course. Wouldn’t want you to get eaten.”

Twitch, twitch, twitch.

“Say you agree and I’ll get you out,” Sherlock told his companion with a smug grin.

Stubbornly, John’s fake smile dissolved as he glared daggers at his human. With deliberate exaggeration John opened his mouth, huffed in as much air as he could and held his breath. For a second the two were locked in a staring contest with John’s cheeks growing pink from lack of air.

“John? What are you doing?”

A grumble was the only reply.

“John, stop that.”

Head shake.

“Stop! You’re going to hurt yourself!”

John held on even more stubbornly. His lungs burned and his face was getting hot, but he wasn’t giving up.

Panicked, Sherlock scooped up his friend, holding him in both hands but trying not to grip too hard.

“Stop that, John! Breathe! You have to breathe!”

Immediately, John let out a large guffaw of air as he heaved in delicious oxygen. Sherlock let out a sigh of relief as well as he gently set the little man on the kitchen table.

“That was ridiculous! Why would you do that?”

It took a few more deep breaths before John felt capable of speaking again. He sauntered over to his jam jar and pulled the lid open, swiping a finger into the sweet, sticky substance.

“John win. John no mice hunt.”

 

* * *

 

_**CHAPTER 8 END** _

 

Thanks as always for reading!!


	9. Stuck Take 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's turn to be stuck. It's never fun to be stuck. Will pocket!John come to the rescue?

  
Sherlock was stuck.

Well and truly stuck.

Sometimes being big sucked.

Sucked balls.

Especially when you had a habit of running after criminals without police backup. Criminals who would happily send you crashing into walls before locking you in a damp cellar with no way out. Correction, there were two ways out. One through the door that had been locked from the outside, and two through a tiny little window which Sherlock could hardly get a hand through. Damn his big hands.

It also didn’t help at all that along the way of pursuing the criminal John had gotten lost. OK, not lost, he and Sherlock had gone separate ways to investigate the building where the drugs were being trafficked from but now the little companion was nowhere to be seen. Sherlock hoped he had managed to escape detection and gotten some help from…somewhere.

The brunet huffed in frustration, raked his fingers through his hair, twirled about, but the walls were unimpressed with his display and stood firm.

It was quickly getting dark outside and the temperature was dropping. Even with his Belstaff coat Sherlock knew he’d have a hard time weathering the entire night without any heating. He flounced over to the door and tried once more to bash it open. Unfortunately, that just gave him a sore shoulder to accompany the headache from getting knocked out earlier. He growled and muttered something his mummy would definitely not approve of, kicking at the thick barrier as he called out.

“HELLO!!!! IS ANYONE OUT THERE???!!”

He paused to listen. Nothing. It seemed even his abductors had left.

“FOR GODS SAKE! BLOODY BLISTERING MYCROFT OF A MEDDLING FOOL!! CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?!”

_…tap, tap, tap…_

Sherlock whirled as he heard the soft sound. It had come from the window. Was it just the wind?

“Hello? Is someone there?”

_…tap, tap, tap…_

A little shadow floated past the frosted glass as hope leaped into Sherlock’s heart like an antelope bounding through a field of daisies.

“John? John, is that you?!”

_taaap, tap, taaap, taaap…tap…tap, tap, tap_

For a moment Sherlock just stood blinking. Was John trying to beat out a melody on that glass?

_tap, tap, taaap, taaap, tap, tap_

Suddenly it clicked, the taps weren’t just random, it was code. Sherlock heard little scratches on the glass and saw the little blob on the other side moving about. Tentatively, he reached out and tried to push on the glass, but it was stuck, kept in place from long-term disuse.

“John, can you hear me??”

The little blob either couldn’t hear or was ignoring him. But in the next second something hurled against the window with enough force to cause it to shudder and creak. A muffled grunt was heard before the impact was repeated, this time causing the glass to crack. Sherlock realized John must be throwing himself against the window in an attempt to break the glass, and he jumped back just as the third impact landed. Shards of sharp, broken glass rained down as the little blob came hurling through, yelping as he tumbled into the room.

Sherlock hurriedly reached out and caught his little savior, feeling ecstatic to have his friend again.

“John! John, how did you find me? Is Lestrade with you?”

John shook himself out of his little ball, sitting on Sherlock’s palm with a slightly dazed look. He brushed himself off and leveled a decidedly sulky glare at the detective, pointing an accusing finger at his nose.

“Sherlock no call Lestrade, Lestrade no come. Sherlock idiot! Big idiot!”

It seemed in John’s eyes the brilliant detective was always quite the idiot. Well, to be fair, John was the only one who got to see Sherlock make a fool of himself over and over again.

“Yes, yes, but Lestrade’s not coming? You didn’t call him??”

John gawked at Sherlock like he was an absolute moron.

“John no call! John small, phone big! John can’t call! Sherlock call! Call!”

Sheepishly, Sherlock pulled his phone out of his pocket. Or at least, the bits and pieces of it. It had gotten caught in his tussle with the criminals earlier and ended up getting stomped on. John stared at the broken phone, he blinked, he looked up at Sherlock, then back down at the phone again. The look he levelled at the bigger man was one of such exasperation it would have been funny if they weren’t in a cold, dark, underground cellar.

Sherlock put his phone back and pretended to look around, if only to avoid that scathing gaze. He peered out the now broken window, then towards the door.

“Um…you…any chance you can pick the lock on the door?”

John followed his gaze and sighed. Luckily for them, the door was ground level, opening to the outside. He had seen it earlier, but he knew there was a large padlock around some heavy chains which kept the door securely shut. He hadn’t exactly been given a lesson on lock picking, but he’d watched Sherlock do it enough times in the few months they’ve lived together.

“John try. Sherlock lock pick bring, yes?”

With a nod, the man brought out his set. He helped John get out the window once more, then set the kit right at the opening. Each tool was almost as tall as John, so he couldn’t carry all of them at once, but once he determined which one to use he can come get it easily.

Outside, the little companion looked around. Still no one around. He supposed that was better than having the criminals come back, but he’d have to work quickly just in case. Running as fast as he could, John leaped over weeds and scrambled onto the door to check the lock.

Yep. Just as he thought, padlock. He hustled back to the window and pulled out the pick he’d need as Sherlock waited. It was a bit of a tussle, the pocket companion trying to jab the pick into the key hole with enough force to get it in, but not too hard as to move the lock. He tried and tried and tried again. Usually it would take a full-sized human both hands to get a lock picked, but John had to use both hands just to hold the lock pic.

He grunted, swore, stomped, yanked, pushed, and tried everything he could. By the time he finally heard the little ‘click’ signaling that his efforts had been successful John was soaked with sweat and cursing up a storm (mostly at Sherlock).

But that ‘click’, that flare of triumph, it made it all worth it as he excitedly yanked the lock off and untangled the chains.

“Sherlock! Sherlock, door open!” John yelled ecstatically as he raced back towards the window to relay the good news.

The detective heard the approaching feet accompanied by the enthusiastic yells and quickly tried the door again. As expected, it burst open, the gust of chilly evening air welcoming him to freedom.

“Excellent, John! That was excellent work!” Sherlock quickly ran out, not sparing his confinement cellar even a glance as he rushed out to collect his friend and lock pick kit.

John hurriedly reclaimed his spot on Sherlock’s shoulder, snuggling in against his neck comfortably. For all that he scolded Sherlock, he was glad to find the man safe. When he realized his friend had been captured it had led to much panicking as he rushed around trying to find where the kidnappers had taken him. Sherlock got into far too much danger for his own good, and John swore to himself he’d keep a closer eye on the crazy man.

As Sherlock hurriedly took them away on his long legs, John clung tightly to the warm scarf, feeling relieved that they would soon be back home again. The building was on the outskirts of the city, but there was a highway nearby where, hopefully, they’d be able to find someone to give them a ride.

Curling himself in close, John allowed himself a smile as he caught the expression on Sherlock’s face. Even after the close call the man was smiling, his grin wide as his eyes glittered with excitement. It was almost a childish glee that John so rarely saw on any of the big people.

Laughing softly to himself, the little companion leaned in and gently pressed a soft kiss against the long, pale neck, feeling the pulse below the surface pounding away. His Sherlock. His crazy detective.

 

* * *

 

**_CHAPTER 9 END_ **

Thanks for everyone's support!! Just a note that nothing's beta-ed and I tend to post as soon as I finish writing so there's not even an editing process. If you notice any mistakes please feel free to point them out!

:D

 

 


	10. Kidnapped. Again.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft doesn't give up easily.

“Achoo!”

The British government raised an eyebrow.

“ACHOO!!”

The British government raised his other eyebrow.

_*SNIFF*_

John wiped his nose and grumbled as he glared at the British government, uncaring that he had just sneezed all over the man’s slice of cake. Served him right.

The little companion had been yanked from the comforts of his and Sherlock’s flat, then whisked off to Mycroft’s gloomy office so early in the morning that he was still in his pajamas. Currently, he was plopped on the arm of Mycroft’s armchair, legs crossed, elbows resting on his knees with his head propped up on one hand. The elder Holmes loomed over him, taking sips of tea and dainty bites of cake, although now he pushed the dessert plate away with a grimace.

“As I was saying, John, my offer would be of great benefit to you, and at little cost.”

John rolled his eyes and heaved a great sigh.

“No.”

“But I haven’t named a figure. I can supply you with a lifetime of jam, as much as you want.”

“John no care. Sherlock friend, John no spy on friend.”

The British government let out a huffy chuckle full of sarcasm.

“Ah, but you’re perfectly happy to keep you past from your…’friend’.”

Immediately John bristled as he stomped to his feet.

“SHUT UP!” Unfortunately, in his anger, the pocket-companion stomped too hard and he lost his footing, tumbling towards the small table beside the armchair and right into Mycroft’s cup of now-lukewarm tea.

“AHHH!!!”

Mycroft’s eyes widened minutely, although he didn’t reach out to help. He watched as the little blond man scrambled to get out, causing the entire cup to tip over, spilling the contents everywhere. The once white-ish pajamas were now stained brown as he dripped tea from his sleeves.

Sighing, Mycroft pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose, massaging it gently. He had never met anyone who caused him such trouble, except maybe Sherlock. And now John was looking at him like he had pushed the dripping man into the tea himself.

Before either party could speak, however, commotions outside the door caught both of their attention. The heavy wooden barrier swung open with a loud crash as tornado Sherlock stormed in, scarf haphazardly thrown around his neck, coat unbuttoned, hair wild, and eyes blazing. Under his coat, he too was still dressed in his pajamas.

“MYCROFT!!! WHERE DID YOU TAKE JOHN TO??? WHERE IS HE?!”

The detective flounced into the office and charged to Mycroft, yanking the man up by his collar and shaking him like one might shake a champagne bottle.

“Sherlock, calm down.”

“WHERE IS HE??!”

“Sherlock.”

“TELL ME!!”

“SHERLOCK.”

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HIM?!!”

“SHERLOCK, JOHN HERE! HERE!!”

Finally, the crazed brunet turned his gaze from the other full-grown man and peered to the side, eyes widening as he took in the scene.

“DID YOU TRY TO DROWN HIM???! YOU CAN’T DROWN JOHN!! I WON’T PERMIT IT!! I’LL…I’LL TELL MUMMY!!!”

By now Mycroft was sure several million of the nerves in his brain had been shaken loose as he tried to pry Sherlock’s hands from him.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, calm down. He’s fine. He had an accident, that’s all.”

Sherlock didn’t give a toss as he practically threw the other man to the side and hurriedly crouched down to check on John.

“Did he do anything to you?”

John was in the midst of trying to wring out as much tea as possible from his soggy clothes.

“He said he give John jam. John no spy on Sherlock for jam.”

Gently, the consulting detective picked up his little friend and wiped his thumb over one cheek. It didn’t escape his notice that the little companion was shivering as the tea cooled.

“He’s a rubbish big brother, just ignore him, John.”

For a moment the blond companion just stared between the two full-sized humans as his mind suddenly clicked.

“BROTHERS!! He no stalker? He Sherlock’s brother??!”

Sherlock scoffed and waved a hand dismissively at Mycroft who was frantically trying to wipe away the wrinkles on his shirt from where his younger brother had grabbed him earlier.

“Well, he can certainly pass for a stalker.”

Mycroft sent them a dirty look before he threw himself back into the armchair with a huff.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I am hardly so free as to have the time to ‘stalk’ you. I am simply concerned for your well-being, Sherlock.”

The curly-haired detective took his own scarf and wrapped his around John as a makeshift blanket before sneering at his brother.

“Your ‘concern’ is most unwelcomed, Mycroft. Stop kidnapping John, go buy a goldfish to keep yourself busy.”

A brown folder was suddenly thrust to Sherlock’s chest and he hurriedly grabbed it in one hand, still holding John with the other. His tirade was cut short as he stared at the front where ‘JOHN WATSON’ was scribbled across the surface.

“Before you get too attached to your little ‘companion’, perhaps it would be wise to actually know about him,” Mycroft sniped, scowling hard at John.

“W-what? I know about John, what are you talking about?” Sherlock stammered, suddenly feeling wrong-footed.

John glanced nervously at the folder in Sherlock’s hand, his expression looking more and more desperate.

“Read the file, brother dear. And then tell me how well you know your little ‘friend’.”

Sherlock shook himself out of his stupor and leveled a narrow-eyed glare before he marched out of the office, John in one hand, folder in the other. He felt his little friend’s trembling intensify although he couldn’t be sure it was simply from the cold. He tried to give a reassuring smile to the little pocket-companion but John wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were glued to the folder.

 

* * *

_**CHAPTER 10 END** _

Apologies for the delay, work's gotten a bit hectic (I'm writing at work, lol).

Will Sherlock read the file? Will John's past be revealed?? Will Mycroft get more tea???


	11. The Folder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's got a folder that seems to hold the story of John's past. What will John do now??

John squirmed restlessly. He stared across the abyss to his friend, trying to keep from nervously fidgeting, but clearly failing. He wished Sherlock would move his chair closer, right now the distance between their respective armchairs felt like a treacherous river that he didn’t dare cross.

The detective’s fingers drummed a grim beat on the arms of his chair, the brown folder placed primly in his lap, unopened. Sherlock’s cerulean eyes glanced between John and the folder, trying to navigate his next move.

“John…”

The low rumble of Sherlock’s voice made the little companion look up, attempting to look innocent.

“Sherlock?”

One slender finger tapped against the folder before the brunet picked it up and slid it onto the small table beside his chair.

“You don’t want me to read what’s inside,” it wasn’t posed as a question but a statement, a confirmation of what Sherlock already knows.

Still, John shook his head, biting his lip.

Sherlock’s eyes flickered over his small friend, trying to deduce what information he could.

“It’s information about your past.”

This time, John nodded, averting his gaze.

“Does the information endanger your safety?”

The little blond head shook once more.

“Does it endanger anyone else’s safety?”

Another shake.

Sherlock sighed. He stared at the folder for a moment longer, looked at John’s forlorn face, then got up and walked to the fireplace where he promptly started a fire. Once the flames were licking away at the logs the tall detective grabbed the folder and threw it in, watching as the edges immediately began to singe away.

John’s eyes grew wide as he watched silently, cautiously crawling on the chair until he could peer over the arm rest as the papers slowly burned to ashes. The crackling of the flames filled the silence of the flat and neither Sherlock nor John moved until the last of the folder had vanished.

The little companion swallowed down the lump in his throat as he looked over at Sherlock, who was still standing beside the fireplace, gaze trained on the fire below. The cold grip around his chest disappeared, but something else took its place.

“Sh-Sherlock?”

The tiny voice seemed to shake the brunet out of his thoughts and he looked over at John once more, giving him a small smile.

“I’m sure you’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

 

* * *

_**CHAPTER 11 END** _

HAHAHA!! Did I have you going?? Did you think I was going to tell what was in the folder???  Patience my dears, we shall find out, but not yet :P

Sorry it was so short, just wanted to post something instead of the cliff-hanger from the last chapter.

 


	12. Conversations over toast and jam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's brooding and Sherlock wants to know why.

221B was quiet.

Unusually quiet.

Especially for a Saturday morning when both occupants were awake and at home.

Sherlock sat at the kitchen table, adjusting the lens on his microscope, trying to decipher the different kinds of soil he had collected.

John lingered by his side, silently scooping out jam from the jar to coat over his mini-toast. Sherlock had helped him cut a single, regular sized piece of toast into quarters making it easier for the pocket-companion to pick up and eat.

Blue-green eyes flickered over to John, watching subtly as the little man licked his fingers clean. After yesterday’s fiasco with Mycroft and the folder John had remained unusually quiet, not saying anything unless Sherlock talked directly to him. He hadn’t bugged Sherlock to get out of bed and make breakfast, he hadn’t pestered for tea or jam, instead waiting patiently, looking subdued.

As John brushed the crumbs from his pajamas Sherlock tore off a piece of tissue and handed it to him to clean up with.

“So…any plans today?”

Blond hair waved gently as John shook his head.

“It’s a nice day out, you can go for a walk?”

John loved his walks. Since he had been stuck in the store for so long he enjoyed his newfound freedom, even if he did end up getting chased by a stray cat once in a while.

But today, the little companion just shook his head.

“Want to go to Tesco for some new jam flavours?”

Sherlock hated going to Tesco, so many people wandering around the aisles, block his way, trying to decide over the fifteen different types of cheese or twenty different flavours of soda. It tried his patience to the limit, but John loved to go exploring.

“No. John no need new jam,” the soft reply almost escaped Sherlock’s ears and he frowned as he stopped pretending to focus on his microscope, turning his attention to his friend.

“John, what’s the matter? What’s wrong?”

Blue eyes glanced up and met Sherlock’s for only a few seconds before they dropped to the table top once more.

“Nothing. John ok.”

Sherlock sighed and set his microscope to the side, cleaning up the different bottles of soil.

“Don’t lie to me, John. Is it Mycroft? Did he say something yesterday? I promise the next time I see him I’ll pour all his tea into his lap, ok?”

A small smirk tilted John’s lips at that image. Mycroft really was a pain, and John was determined never to be caught by him again without Sherlock present.

He fiddled with the hem of his pajama shirt as he glanced up at Sherlock through the fringes of his blond hair.

“Why Mycroft no like John? John Sherlock’s friend, yes? John not good friend?”

Sherlock made a face.

“Oh don’t mind him, John. He doesn’t like anybody. He thinks other people are all idiots.”

A soft snicker escaped from John’s lips.

“Like Sherlock. Sherlock thinks people idiots too.”

The detective smirked back with a shrug.

“Well, they are. That’s not my fault.”

John pointed at himself and fluttered his eyelashes.

“John too? John idiot?”

Sherlock reached out one long, slender finger and gave the little companion a gently poke in the tummy.

“John’s a special idiot.”

The little blond man squeaked and giggled, crossing his arms over his stomach in defense. Sherlock smiled and chuckled along as he watched the previously melancholy expression finally melt away from John’s face into something more relaxed. The detective cupped his large hands and picked John up in them, bringing him up to eye level.

“John, listen to me. Are you still concerned about that folder?”

The reminder made the small man quiet down as he bit his lip and fidgeted uncomfortably.

“Don’t worry about the folder, ok? It doesn’t matter what was inside. If you want to tell me, I’ll listen, but even if you never tell me, that’s ok.”

John’s brows furrowed in possibly the most serious expression Sherlock had ever seen on his friend’s face. He pondered Sherlock’s words, mumbling to himself too softly for the detective to catch the words. Hesitantly, he looked up again, meeting Sherlock’s eyes.

“B-but…But what if Sherlock no like John after…after…John tell?”

The little companion looked so desperate and heartbroken that Sherlock hurriedly shook his head.

“No, that won’t happen. You’re my friend, John, and you’re a good pocket-companion. I know whatever it is won’t change either of that.”

The blond went quiet once more and for several minutes neither person moved. The world outside the flat seemed to disappear as the two friends only focused on each other.

Finally, with a sigh, John nodded to himself and squared his jaw.

“O-ok. John tell Sherlock. But…,” the little blond’s cheeks reddened as he glanced around.

“But…? What is it, John?” Sherlock prompted.

“But…Sherlock take John to Tesco first. John get more jam.”

Sherlock blinked and looked over towards the windows in the living room where the city below was already bustling. With a groan he turned tortured eyes to John pleadingly.

“Really?! Now?? Must we? Can’t Mrs. Hudson do it???”

John shook his head and crossed his arms stubbornly.

“No. Sherlock take John.”

The two engaged in a mini-staring contest before the lanky detective finally sighed and got up. He set John down on the table and trudged broodingly into the bedroom to change, grumbling about ‘idiots’ and ‘bloody jam’ the entire way.

 

* * *

_**CHAPTER 12 END** _

Poor John worrying over Sherlock getting to know his past. (It's not that bad, don't worry!! This story's focused on fluff after all :D)

 


	13. John and his Jam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John got his jam...xDD

(Wanted to share this since I just finished it :D)

 

 

(It looks like John got his jam after all, haha.)


	14. Unwanted Pocket Companions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's past is revealed.
> 
> (Please be careful of tense change when John starts talking, sorry if that causes any confusion.)

Sherlock’s eyes kept protective watch over the small bundle that had fallen asleep on his bed. The small form was almost lost among the folds of the duvet, barely making a dent on the pillow. The blond head snuffled and muttered something before being dragged into the depths of slumber once more while Sherlock perched himself on the edge of the mattress, a cup of tea in his hands to keep him company whilst he kept guard.

Their trip to Tesco had been semi-triumphant. They did manage to get a few more jars of jam for John, but not before Sherlock rearranged the entire cereal aisle, claiming the order was not logical. That had ended with the manager of the store fuming, which only encouraged Sherlock to start a deduction-takedown of the man that ended with the detective and John being booted out.

Still, at least John had his jam, and he hummed to himself happily as they trotted back home. It wasn’t until they were at the front door to the flat that the little companion quieted down, the realization that he now had no other excuse to use to delay ‘the talk’ dawning. Sherlock had, once again, reassured his friend that he shouldn’t feel obligated to reveal anything he didn’t want to, but John had stubbornly insisted that Sherlock was his friend and that meant telling him what had been in the folder.

Sherlock had made them both a cup of tea and he even cut up some bits of fresh strawberries for John before they both settled into their respective armchairs.

John had nibbled nervously on his strawberries, averting his gaze from Sherlock’s as he began his tale.

 

**~~~***~~~**

  
“D-Does Sherlock know, not wanted pocket companions, where go?” the small man asked.

Sherlock frowned. Not wanted pocket companions? Surely that didn’t happen. Pocket companions weren’t like animal pets that could be surrendered to shelters or abandoned, there were laws. Still, he supposed there was probably some form of system in place for the ones who didn’t have a home.

“Foster home?” Sherlock guessed.

John let out a huffy laugh that was void of all mirth.

“Not wanted pocket companions, live outside. Like no-home cats.”

Sherlock frowned harder. They lived outside? That didn’t seem very plausible since he had never seen any stray pocket companions just wandering the streets.

“Really? You mean, they’re homeless?”

The small companion shook his head.

“Homeless humans sleep in alleys, under bridges, sometimes get help from other humans. Pocket companions must hide.”

The detective’s nose wrinkled in confusion, “Why do they have to hide?”

John sighed, “Bad humans catch pocket companions with no home, sell to other bad humans. Very dangerous. Must hide in tunnels under city. Sometimes live with rats. Rats dangerous too, but bad humans worse.”

For a moment Sherlock’s mind filled with images of the underground tunnels of London crawling with little pocket companions needing homes. He couldn’t help glancing down towards the floor, even though they were on the second floor. Did any of them live under 221 Baker Street?

John licked his lips and continued, “B-before Sherlock, John had…John had…”

The little companion looked so conflicted that Sherlock was almost afraid he was going to pass out. He leaned forward a bit, preparing to catch his friend should that happen, but instead, the small blond man just took a deep breath and pushed forward.

“Before Sherlock, John had other friend. Human friend.”

The consulting detective blinked. Then blinked again. John had another human ‘owner’ before him? But all pocket-companions from the shops were supposed to be…’un-owned’. How did John end up in the shop then?

Sherlock made a soft questioning sound as his head tilted a bit in confusion.

“John’s last human friend called Richard, but…he no like John,” John looked dejectedly at his lap, his voice wavering.

“Many pocket companions in Richard’s home, but he not nice. He buy more every month, and throw away pocket companions he no like. He…he throw John away. He said John too old, not cute no more, not useful,” the last word was accompanied by a sniffle as John rubbed at his eyes with his shirt sleeve.

Hurriedly, Sherlock grabbed a tissue and tore off a corner, handing it gently to John. His mind was already racing ahead as he started building a room in his Mind Palace for this “Richard”. He was going to find this bastard and deck him a good one.

John took the tissue and wiped at his cheeks before taking another big breath.

“John lived in tunnel with other pocket companions. Sometimes rats attacked. John lost friends. But John saved some friends. Rats teeth very sharp, bite John’s shoulder,” a trembling hand settled on his left shoulder as the small man seemed to recall the incident. He rubbed at the area, and chanced a peek over to Sherlock.

The detective had known about John’s injured shoulder, although now it was a faded scar. He had glimpsed it a few times when John had been changing, but never asked since it didn’t seem to physically impede his friend.

“D-does it still hurt?” Sherlock asked quietly.

John shook his head, “No, but rainy days, sometimes sore.”

Brunet curls bounced gently as Sherlock nodded. Thinking back, John did tend to be more lethargic whenever they encountered rainy days. He generally wanted to just lay around the flat and not do much, probably because his shoulder was bothering him.

“John live in tunnel long time, but then found secret door into shop. John wanted to look for new human friend, but John old, not cute, no human want John. John stay in shop many days.”

Sherlock set his tea cup down and slid to the floor. He inched his way toward John’s chair and settled himself at the front. Reaching down, he carefully brushed a finger over the soft blond hair, wishing he could give his friend a hug.

The soft touch made John look up and he gave Sherlock a watery smile that made his lips tremble.

“But Sherlock choose John. Sherlock want John…yes?” The small question was filled with hesitancy, like the small companion was afraid Sherlock would change his mind.

Resolutely, the detective nodded, smiling back with full confidence.

“Of course I want you, John. You’re my best friend. You don’t ever have to worry about living in the tunnels or fighting rats every again.”

John let out a choked sob as he grabbed Sherlock’s finger and hugged it tightly. Sherlock wrapped both hands around his small friend, careful not to squeeze too tightly but hugging him back as best as he could.

  
**~~~***~~~**

 

The detective sighed into his now-cold tea as the memories washed over him. After that, John had been exhausted, and Sherlock had taken him into the bathroom to wash up. It was only mid-afternoon, but the emotional toll had drained the little blond, so the detective had helped him into the bedroom for a nap after a bit more tea.

Now his friend was snoozing away, his eyes still looking a bit red from his cry earlier. Sherlock admired the little companion for his bravery and wondered what kind of idiot could ever just toss John aside. Grabbing his laptop from beside the bed, Sherlock opened the cover and pulled up a new tab on his browser. Time to check out who this ‘Richard’ might be, Sherlock really ought to pay him a visit soon.

 

* * *

_**CHAPTER 13 END** _

T______T Er...not too angsty I hope?? I wanted a backstory that would still account for John's shoulder and also his doctor-ish skills.

 

To cheer you up, here, have a pencil!Lock and eraser!John  
(Come find me on Tumblr for future art and fic updates :D   <http://7-percent-solution.tumblr.com/> )

 

 


	15. Battleground: alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John go after a thief.

  
John clutched at the fabric of Sherlock’s scarf tightly as his long-legged detective raced through the street. Unlike a sane person, Sherlock zigged and zagged between the cars instead of around them, causing several to slam on their breaks and screech to a halt. They left a trail of angry drivers and honking horns behind as the two gave chase to the quickly vanishing thief in front.

“THAT WAY! SHERLOCK! RIGHT! RIGHT!!” John shouted at the top of his lungs as their target took a sharp turn down an alley.

Sherlock’s footsteps thundered through on the pavement, echoing between the buildings as his sharp eyes calculated the best route to head off the criminal.

The man up ahead was clever, throwing rubbish bins and whatever else he could grab onto in their way. Thankfully, the detective’s long legs managed to jump over the obstacles easily, but it made John feel like he was riding a bucking stallion.

A fence up blocked off the exit to the alley allowing them to corner their target. The man whirled with a snarl, wielding a small pocket knife in one hand as he waved it around threateningly.

Sherlock stopped a few feet away, hair wild and eyes glittering. His breath was harsh but John could almost feel the trembling excitement of his friend. The adrenaline was pumping at full now and the detective was unlikely to let a prey go easily.

“Stop being tedious, Tommy. The police are on their way, and there’s no way out.”

The thief growled and jabbed his weapon forward, trying to get his pursuer to back off.

“Piss off. Yah meddlin’ weirdo. This don’t concern you.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “If you had stuck to pick pocketing I wouldn’t even spare you the time of day. But breaking into Lord Walkerton’s mansion was a mistake, you must have known he wouldn’t have simply let you walk away with all that jewelry.”

Instead of reply, Tommy decided to make a run for it. He faked a lunge for the left before swerving to the right. Sherlock easily saw through his tactic and headed him off, one hand grabbing onto the wrist of the hand holding the knife so that the man couldn’t plunge it down.

John clung on tightly, but in the scuffle that followed he went tumbling from Sherlock’s shoulder. He yelped but quickly tucked himself into a ball so that he rolled on the ground, safely out of harm’s way.

Unfortunately for the small blond, his rolling ended in a puddle of…well, whatever was in that liquid John felt he was better off not knowing. His shirt and trousers quickly soaked through even as he leaped out, trying to shake himself off. It smelled awful, like rotten eggs and decomposing thumbs (yes, thanks to Sherlock, John now knew what that smelled like). It was cold, and combined with the chilly breeze John was shivering within seconds.

He glared over at the two full-sized men still locked in battle. A wet and cold John was an angry, impatient John, and he really didn’t feel like waiting for the two idiots to finish their fight. He stormed over to some spilled rubbish and grabbed bits and pieces of rotten vegetables (he was smelly and gross already anyway). With as much power as he could, John hurled the pieces towards Tommy, trying to aim for his face. It was difficult since the man was moving around and squirming, but John had great aim and he managed to heave a cherry tomato straight at the thief’s eye.

With a holler of surprise, Tommy fell back, wiping at his face and eye frantically as the squishy, watery tomato made contact. Sherlock took his chance and pounced, forcing the man to his knees as the detective quickly secured the handcuffs over Tommy’s wrists.

The curly haired detective huffed, trying to get his breath back. He looked over at John and gave him a big grin which the small companion returned eagerly.

“A-A-ACHOO!!”

Sherlock frowned and walked over to John.

“ACHOO!”

He bent down and scooped up his friend, but after a single sniff his entire expression grimaced.

“Dear God, John. That’s bloody awful.”

John was about to retort something witty when another sneeze wracked his body.

“Oh for goodness sake, you can’t possibly be ill.”

John glared and sniffed aggressively.

Before either could say anything more the sound of sirens closing in made them look toward the alley’s entrance. Without a word, Sherlock trotted out of the alley, looking cautiously to see where the police cars were before jetting off in the opposite direction. He was sure Lestrade will come to the flat later, demanding statements, but he would rather deal with that in the comfort of his home than in some disgusting alley.

John found himself bouncing around, his body gripped in Sherlock’s hand. There was less of a chance of falling this way, but it made him feel like a rag doll. He squirmed around, trying to find a comfortable way to be held, but it was a lost cause. In the end he simply clung on to Sherlock’s finger, trying to ignore how cold and shivery he felt.

 

* * *

 

_**CHAPTER 14 END** _

 

Since John can't really handle a gun in his current state...I think I'm going to give him a sling shot in the future xDD Just John, his sling shot, and rotten tomatoes.

Here, have a llama!Lock and ram!John pic, because apparently I can draw all kinds of AUs but just not the actual boys...

(Come find me on Tumblr for future art and fic updates :D   <http://7-percent-solution.tumblr.com/> )


	16. Cold, Cold, Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's got a cold! Oh no!

John was miserable.

Miserable and cold.

Also thirsty.

But mostly cold

Maybe a bit hungry.

But he could ignore it if it would just stop being so cold.

Did he mention he was cold?

He curled up tightly, burrowing into the fuzzy pajamas as best as he could, smothering his face against the pillow as he grumbled and whinged about how cold and thirsty and hungry he was.

The logical solution would be to go to the kitchen for some food and water, and then maybe get another blanket, but that would require moving and John didn’t feel like his legs would be willing to cooperate at this point.

So instead, he just grumbled and whinged, then whinged and grumbled.

Sherlock poked his head into the bedroom, peering over at the little bundle in the corner. John had grabbed bits and pieces of fabric from Mrs. Hudson’s sewing kit to make himself a blanket, but right now he resembled a ball on his little bed, hidden under the blanket.

With a sigh, the detective shut the door gently, knowing that if he tried to disturb the little man he would get an earful.

After their chase through the alley John had caught himself a whopping cold. Runny nose, fever, sore throat, headache, you name it, he had it. Apparently cold puddles and pocket-companions were not a good match. He had managed to coax a bit of tea and toast with jam into John but the little companion had refused to eat more than a few mouthful complaining that his throat hurt. Since then the little blond had remained in bed, only glaring at Sherlock if he ever treaded too closely and woke him from slumber.

Sherlock looked around the kitchen, wondering what to do. Taking care of someone else really wasn’t his forte. His eyes ran over the counters and cupboards, his hands rummaging in the fridge to try and find something to help his friend.

“Hoo-hoo~,” a sing-song voice called out as footsteps ascended the stairs.

Sherlock muffled a groan as he stared at the door, knowing Mrs. Hudson was on her way in.

“Hello dear, how’s our little John doing? Any better?”

The detective sighed.

“Mrs. Hudson, it has been precisely two hours, thirty two minutes and eight seconds since you last came up, I don’t think his condition would have suddenly improved in that time span.”

The elderly woman smiled, not minding the terse tone that she was more than used to.

“Well, you never know. It’s awful having a cold, oh, I always hated it. All that coughing and sneezing, it wasn’t even the headaches or fevers so much, I mean obviously those are hideous too, but the coughing really gets you. You can’t even sleep, you realize, when you keep coughing. I remember once when Frank and I just got married, he came down with an awful cold. Usually he was such a tough man, but he whinged and cried like a baby the entire time. Oh you would not believe the things he wanted me to bring him, tea, biscuits, honey, scones, I mean, scones! In Florida! Oh it was absolutely dreadful. But you know, it was very odd, even with all that going on Frank was so frisky, every time I went to bring him some food of drink he would pull me into bed with him, he was like a furnace, my goodness! He kept complaining he was tired and sore but heavens that certainly didn’t dampen his enthusiasm, couldn’t last though, awful effect on his stamina, I…”

“ **MRS. HUDSON!!** ” Sherlock barked, his eyes wide and cheeks flushed. He did NOT need to hear about his landlady’s sex life, and now he would have to spend hours trying to delete what he had heard.

The brunet waved his hand desperately, as if he could physically disperse the imagery if he just flailed about enough, leveling glares at Mrs. Hudson.

The patient women sighed and set down her tray which she had brought up, filled with yummies that she knew John liked.

“Oh Sherlock, stop tittering about. That last time you did that you knocked yourself out on the counter corner.”

Sherlock huffed in indignation but scuttled closer to see what was on the tray. Quick as a flash he grabbed a biscuit, popping it into his mouth happily.

“Sherlock! Shame on you! This is for John!” Mrs. Hudson cried in outrage, slapping at the detective’s large paw when he tried to grab another.

Low grumbles rumbled in Sherlock’s throat, though he didn’t dare actually voice them. Heaven forbid he upset his landlady and she stops bringing up food, he was likely to starve in that case.

“Now you make sure John gets this, and don’t you try sneaking any more. I’ll know!”

Sherlock obediently picked up the tray and headed for the bedroom under Mrs. Hudson’s watchful eye. Halfway there he peeked back to see if she was still watching, hoping to nab another biscuit, but the woman was still there, arms crossed and eyes trained on him knowingly. She pointed to the door and Sherlock could only sigh in exasperation.

John heard the commotion outside but didn’t bother moving. He didn’t even budge when the bedroom door opened, or when Sherlock knelt down beside his bed. Only when he felt a finger poking him did he finally mutter a few choice words, pulling the blanket back just enough to peek out.

“Whad?”

“Mrs. Hudson brought food for you.”

“Oh,” a small hand poked out from the blanket opening, palm up.

Sherlock broke off a piece of a biscuit and handed it over. From below the blanket he heard munching and then a little sigh before the hand reached out again. For a while this continued, Sherlock handing food over, sometimes a little doll-sized tea cup of tea with honey. Slowly, John began to feel a little better. The tea was warm, as were the baked goods, fresh out of the oven. It didn’t make him feel like getting out of bed, but he didn’t feel quite as miserable anymore. Carefully he pulled the blanket back enough to reveal his head, laying down more properly on the bed inside of like a curled ball. Sherlock reached down and smoothed the fringe of his blond hair from his forehead, noting how flushed the little companion’s cheeks looked from the fever.

“If I dissolve some medicine in the tea, will you take it?” The detective asked quietly.

John looked over at him, eyes glassy and scowling (although it looked more like a pout at this point). With a sigh, he nodded, admitting that his body needed some help to overcome this.

Sherlock smiled and quietly padded into the bathroom to get the medication. He popped one of the pills out of the packaging, crushing it against the counter. He picked up a bit of the powder between his fingers and sprinkled it into the tea before bringing it back to John.

Carefully he helped his friend drink the entire cup, then got him settled back on the bed.

The detective looked around and grabbed his scarf. He folded it a few times and added it over top of John’s blanket to keep him warm. The medicine took effect quickly, lulling the little companion into slumber. Sherlock sat beside him, munching on the remaining food as he kept a careful eye on his friend.

 

 

* * *

 

_**CHAPTER 15 END** _

[Ninawatson](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ninawatson/pseuds/ninawatson) requested a chapter where John gets sick and Sherlock takes care of him :D Well, Mrs. Hudson helped, haha.

 

Today's accompanying art...LLAMA!LOCK AND RAM!JOHN!!!!!! xDD

 

 

(Come find me on Tumblr for future art and fic updates :D   <http://7-percent-solution.tumblr.com/> )


	17. 221B's New Resident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John discovers someone's been living in their walls!! :O

Sherlock growled in annoyance at the wall. He leaned down, reached as far as he could, but nope, still not enough.

Goddamit.

The detective tried again, stretching his long fingers as much as he could.

Almost. Almost.

He could just feel the smooth surface brush the tip of his fingers but he couldn’t get enough traction to pull it out.

Buggering bollocks.

The lanky man stood up and swept his hands over the knees of his trousers, dusting away bits of dirt from the floor. He glared over to the table where his current concoction…er…experiment was bubbling away and sighed. Without the runaway marble he couldn’t continue the tests, and he didn’t have any spares prepared.

Luckily for Sherlock he heard the pitter pattering of John’s feet as his friend emerged from the bedroom. The little man was still in his pajamas having just woken, hair sticking up in all directions as he rubbed at his eyes.

“’Morning ‘Lock,” John muttered still half asleep. He hopped up the mini-steps that led to the kitchen table but stopped when he realized that his jam jar had been removed to make space for Sherlock’s science equipment.

“’Lock…jam.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes but grabbed the jar from the counter anyway. Just as he was about to hand it over, an idea struck. He yanked his hand out of reach at the last minute making John stumble.

“John, would you like jam with your morning toast?” The brunet asked smugly, holding the jam jar just above John’s head.

The little companion gave him a sleepy glare and sighed.

“John hungry. Sherlock give John jam.”

Sherlock nodded sagely as he pretended to contemplate his options.

“Oh, I will. But before that I’d like to ask you for a favour, John.”

Knowing the detective well, the small man stared at him suspiciously, arms crossing over his chest.

“Favour?”

“Yes, a favour. Easy, really. You don’t even need to leave the flat.”

“What favour?”

The tall detective pointed to the wall where a small hole was, about half the height of John.

“My marble rolled in there. If you get it for me, I’ll give you your jam.”

John grumbled and looked between the hole and Sherlock. It didn’t sound particularly difficult. Finally, he nodded and climbed down from the table, trotting to the wall. He peered inside but it was too dark to see anything. The light from the kitchen bounced off the marble a few centimeters in and John cautiously stepped through the hole for his retrieval mission.

It was too heavy for him to lift so the pocket companion decided to simply roll the marble out. He gave it a push as hard as he could and watched the little glass ball start moving towards the entrance.

Before John could push again, he felt something brush against his leg.

Dust? Probably, it was dark but John was sure it would be dusty since no one dusted behind the walls, not even Mrs. Hudson.

He pushed again and the marble rolled once more, getting closer to the opening.

This time, John felt something touch his neck.

He froze.

That wasn’t dust. It was cold and wet, and it definitely moved.

His heart racing in his chest, John slowly turned around. For a moment nothing appeared out of the darkness. He squinted and moved his head around a bit until the light from the entrance caught two beady little eyes staring back at him, only an arm’s length (his arm’s length, not Sherlock’s) away.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

The shrill shriek of terror burst forth, scaring the critter into turning tail and scuttling off, but John didn’t care. He whipped around, left the marble, and bolted out into the kitchen once more.

“MOUSE!!!!!! MOUSSSSSSE!!!!!!!!!!!!”

John raced out of the wall and ran full speed past Sherlock, hiding behind the startled detective’s leg.

“John?”

“MOUSE IN WALL!!! MOUSE SMELL JOHN!!!”

Sherlock hurriedly went up to the wall himself and kneeled down to try and see, but of course there was nothing there anymore. He walked back to his panicking friend and picked him up, settling John on his shoulder.

“It’s gone, John. Calm down, you’re ok. The mouse is gone.”

John shuddered and huddled close to Sherlock’s neck, trembling.

Sherlock stifled a sigh and picked up the jam jar, opening the lid.

“Here, John, have some jam. I’m sure the mouse was as scared as you were.”

For once, John didn’t immediately dive into his jam, instead clinging to the collar of Sherlock’s shirt.

“Mouse big, John small.”

Sherlock sat down at the table and turned his Bunsen burner down. It looked like he’ll have to wait to get some new marbles later.

“I know. I’ll go get some traps and we can take it out away from the flat, ok? Maybe we can let it loose in Mycroft’s office.”

The made John smile a little although he didn’t move away from Sherlock.

It took another few minutes before the little companion stopped shaking. Sherlock made them both some tea and toast, using them to coax his friend into coming down from his shoulder. After a while the lure of sweet jam proved too much and John finally stopped shaking enough to eat his breakfast. He kept a wary eye on the wall, but the rest of their morning was very much mouse-less.

 

* * *

 

_**CHAPTER 16 END** _

Sorry for the delay. Thanks as always for reading everyone~ :D

 

And our accompanying pic today, a little comic ^O^

(Come find me on Tumblr for future art and fic updates :D   <http://7-percent-solution.tumblr.com/> )

 


	18. Whiskers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's furry nemesis appears!

John stared at the wriggling creature in the cage.

It stared back indifferently and gave a squeak.

John rolled his eyes.

“Not keep.”

“John…”

“No. Not keep.”

Sherlock pouted and looked at their little captive who was too busy stuffing its mouth with food to care.

“He won’t hurt you.”

“He big.”

“Not THAT big, just a little…and only if you count the tail.”

John crossed his arms and gave Sherlock a stern look.

“No.”

Sherlock sighed in resignation.

“Oh, fine. I’ll go release him in the park.”

The little blond man nodded, satisfied. He gave the little mouse one more look. It honestly wasn’t a very big mouse, and obviously it had just entered into their walls looking for food. Sherlock had managed to catch it after setting up the trap just one night. Still, John could easily lose an arm or a leg if the little furry creature attacked. Even so, the pocket-companion felt just a little back about kicking the mouse out. He picked up a piece of his toast, dipped it in jam, and plopped it into the cup inside the cage where the mouse delightfully nibbled on the treat. John watched as the little mouse finished eating and began grooming, licking at the fur on his belly.

Sherlock’s sharp eyes caught John’s softening expression and he leaped at the chance.

“But it’s winter now, and there’s no food out there. Can I wait until spring to let him go?”

For a few moments John didn’t reply and the brunet thought his suggestion was going to be rejected. Finally, however, John gave a curt nod.

“Fine. Sherlock wait until spring.”

*******

It didn’t take long for the little mouse, dubbed as Sir Whiskers of the Might Walls of Baker Street, or Whiskers for short, settled into life at 221B Baker Street, much to the chagrin of Mrs. Hudson. He didn’t seem to particularly care about much except eating, although he did like snuggling up against John who would grumble about getting hair everywhere.

John was taller than Whiskers, but the little mouse packed quite a punch if he came careening around a corner and knocked into the little man. Often Whiskers would attempt to steal John’s toast, ending in wrestling matches as the two tussled over breakfast or got into tugging wars over the scones.

Sherlock would only roll his eyes and carry on with his experiments. It felt nice that the flat wasn’t so silent these days since someone was always up and about, making noise and chasing away the loneliness which had plagued the detective before.

During the day, while he and John would go out to work on cases Whiskers would be asleep in his cage. At night, when they returned, the little mouse would be alert and waiting for them to let him out. The three companions of Baker Street settled into their lives together as the winter passed.

 

 

* * *

 

_**CHAPTER 17 END** _

I'm so sorry for the delay, work kind of got ahead of me, and on top of that this chapter's short, so apologies, but I just wanted to type up something to post :D

Here, have a mini-comic~

 

(Come join me on [my tumblr](http://7-percent-solution.tumblr.com/) for more art and fanfic updates~ )


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